


No Flaws, No Vices, No Sense of Humour

by glasgowgirl92



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-20 17:37:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3659208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasgowgirl92/pseuds/glasgowgirl92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Easy Company adopt an unlikely mascot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carentan

He first saw her after Carrentan, passing through the splayed bodies of Easy Company scattered on the grass. Dressed in decommissioned fatigues and a cast-off helmet, she weaved unnoticed through the chaos of card games and cigarette smoke- until she raised her voice.  
‘Easy Company Medic, on me!’  
Eyes snapped upwards. Beside him, Nix paused mid-swig of his hip flask. Dick Winters gave a soft huff of laughter.  
‘You’d think they last saw a woman six months ago, not six days.’  
He felt Nix side-eyeing him.

‘Easy Company medic, on me!’  
Doc Roe stood and jogged forward to a languid chorus of jeers and whistles. She didn’t seem to hear them.  
‘What’s your name?’  
‘Roe. Eugene Roe… ma’am.’  
‘Ok Eugene, you got any walking wounded?’  
‘Just minor injuries, nothin’ I can’t handle.’  
‘Well, Aid Station’s back there, we got fresh supplies coming in tomorrow oh seven hundred: morphine, plasma, sulfa, the lot. You want my advice, you’ll take all you can carry now because I don’t know when you boys are gonna see more. You need anything or you got any questions, you ask for Baby, ok?’  
A smile ghosted across Doc Roe’s face. ‘…Baby, ma’am?’  
She met him with an even stare. ‘The men call me Baby. Nobody calls me ma’am.’  
Behind them, the jeers rolled on.  
‘Hey Roe, you gettin’ lucky tonight?’  
‘Hey baby! C’mon, tell us your name, baby!’  
She glanced towards Easy, eyebrows raised.  
‘See? They know me already. Good luck, Eugene.’

Patting his arm, she turned and was caught for a moment in the last sliver of daylight. Her helmet, too large and peppered with holes, slipped back to reveal a gleam of gold hair. An old bruise yellowed her cheekbone.  
‘Baby, huh?’  
Nix’s words were muffled by his cigarette. Her gaze swept past where they sat a little way off from the Company, then returned. Dick felt his stomach tighten under the scrutiny of those blue-green eyes. The corner of her mouth twitched.  
‘MEDIC!’  
In an instant she was gone, a mere silhouette in the shadows, sprinting towards the sound of chaos. Nix blew a cloud of smoke into the dusk.  
‘Was she looking at you or me?’  
‘I dunno, Lew. Maybe she was looking at the sunset.’  
Nix leaned back on his elbows.  
‘People don’t look at sunsets like that.’

***

Wind rattled through the old farmhouse, stirring the forest of papers in front of him. Dick hacked away at the greasy old typewriter, aching and weary, a dull throb still pulsing in his ankle. There was a knock at the door.  
‘It’s open.’  
He looked up, expecting Nix come for his Vat 69.  
‘Captain Winters, sir.’  
‘Baby!’  
The word was out of his mouth before his brain caught up. Dick felt it burn on his tongue, heat prickling into his cheeks. She was good at hiding her smile, he’d noticed.  
‘Uh- come in.’  
He winced again, half-rising from his chair.  
‘No, sit,’ she insisted, moving around the table. ‘Doc Roe told me your dressing needs changed.’  
‘My, uh- oh, yes.’  
He’d rather got used to the steady thrum of pain: a constant of war like any other, like cold hands and chapped lips, like cam-cream ingrained forever on the lines of his palms. He’d almost forgotten about it.  
‘He said you’d probably forgotten about it.’  
Dick laughed despite himself.  
‘Right or left?’  
‘Left.’  
She knelt down and began unlacing his boot, feeling along his leg so as not to hurt him as she eased his foot free. Dick had seen her in action a few times now: front-line medics ranged from professional doctors to men who’d sat through a single first-aid course, but she was one of the best. Quick, cool and clean, her technical ability was matched by something in her manner: a quiet certainty, a steadiness of hand and mind that seemed to rub off on the men she treated. Doc Roe said his grandmother could heal people just with a touch of her hands. Dick felt a cool, soft touch on his wounded leg and forgot his pain. 

‘It’s healing nicely.’  
Having finished cleaning and inspecting the wound, she reached for a fresh dressing. The farmhouse groaned around them, papers sighing and fluttering on the desk. Dick watched her work, gold hair shining faintly in the lamplight. She bit her bottom lip when she was concentrating.  
‘Your real name can’t be Baby.’  
She let out a breath of laughter, then paused. Her gaze was steady and cool.  
‘It starts out as a cat-call, y’know… like with Easy. “Hey, baby! Come over here, baby!”’ Her impression of Luz would have made the boy proud. ‘But then… sometimes when they’re dying, they think I’m their sister. Their girlfriend. Their mother. The ones that make it through, they remember.’ A few more turns and the bandage would be fastened. ‘I’ve saved a few lives here. Made a few friends. When those guys call me Baby, it means something. It means I had their back and now they’ve got mine.’ She finished and looked up at him, her eyes almost grey in the low light. ‘Draftees never have nicknames, you ever noticed that?’

It was his turn to speak. Dick opened his mouth, but a beat too long had passed and she was on her feet, wiping a smear of his blood from her hand onto the used dressing. He stood awkwardly, ridiculously, with one boot off and his combats rolled up past his knee.  
‘Here, let me-‘  
‘No, stay.’  
She put her hand on his arm, pushed him gently but firmly back into the chair. Looking over to the table, she frowned.  
‘You need to get some sleep. That can wait until morning. Doctor’s orders.’  
‘Yes ma’am.’  
She fixed him with that look, eyebrows raised, a twitch that might have been a smile.  
‘Lucy Cullen. You can call me Lucy.’


	2. Bastogne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reuniting with Easy in Bastogne.

White snow from white clouds, as if the sky were falling piece by piece. White snow through black trees, black metal churning black earth. The whites of men’s eyes. The black of their frostbitten fingers, their rotting feet. The crushing boredom, the paralysing cold, punctured by flashes of terror and pain. A scream of red written across the snow.  
Bastogne. War is hell.  
‘Sir?’  
Dick had just returned to his billy-can of water, already freezing to icy slush. The wind hit his face, still damp with shaving cream, slicing the skin closer than any razor.  
‘Doc?’  
‘Can I scrounge a bandage from your Aid Kit, sir?’  
‘How are you fixed?’  
‘No plasma, couple of bandages, practically no morphine. I tried to find my way up to 3rd Battalion for supplies, but…’  
Roe paused, remembering limbs frozen black and solid, gnarled and pointing into the air. In the darkness they would’ve looked like branches.  
‘…I lost my way.’  
‘If you can’t get over to 3rd, hook up with Doc Ryan- he’ll fix you up with what he has to spare.’  
‘Thanks, Captain.’  
Roe paused on the edge of thought. There was nothing he could do for those men. Winters was a good leader, a good man. He had enough on his mind.  
‘…Captain?’  
‘What is it Eugene?’  
‘Captain Nixon said he went lookin’ for the 501st, Sir?’  
‘I believe so.’  
‘Well I think I found ‘em, Sir.’  
Dick stared up at him. The look in Roe’s eyes said enough. He paused, then sighed a great huff of steam into the fog.  
‘Take a couple of men and look for survivors.’  
‘Sir?’  
‘You need Aid Kits, Doc. They don’t. Officially you are looking for survivors.’  
The thought of going back there pummelled a hole in Roe’s stomach.  
‘Yessir.’

 

***

 

‘This is bullshit.’  
‘Aw, quit your whining, Gonorrhoea.’  
Roe, Babe and Guarnere had been inching through the snow for hours.  
‘Goin’ on a rescue mission for fuckin’ dead guys. Merry fuckin’ Christmas.’  
‘Yeah well your Christmas came early this year didn’t it, Guarnere?’ Babe wheezed under his breath.  
Roe grinned in the dark. ‘Sure wasn’t the only thing that came early.’  
‘Maybe Santa’ll bring you some penicillin if you’re a good boy.’  
‘Fuck you, and fuck you.’  
‘Hey, that’s what got you in trouble in the first place, Bill. Keep your pants on will ya?’  
‘You should do standup, Babe. No, really, stand up and let’s see what Jerry makes of your jokes.’  
‘Shut up!’ Roe hissed. Silence closed in around them.

‘…Doc?’  
Roe shifted uneasily.  
‘Thought I heard something.’  
As Guarnere drew breath to speak, it came again: a voice? It couldn’t be a voice. Perhaps it was the branches above them, rubbing together, creaking in the wind.  
‘Oh, Jesus!’  
Babe rolled abruptly towards them, gasping.  
‘What, what?’  
‘I thought it was a… a fucking branch or something…’  
The moon broke free above them, full and fat, white light streaking through the trees. All around there sprouted a thicket of limbs, frozen under a dusting of snow, and dead faces pressed down, down into the earth. Roe swallowed the retch rising in his throat.  
‘Looks like we found ‘em. Grab their Aid Kits, let’s get outta here.’  
‘Let’s go, Babe.’  
They fanned forward, grateful this once for the biting cold which masked the now-familiar reek of death. 

‘Quiet!’  
There it was again, that noise. That… voice?  
‘H-hello?’ Doc heard himself whisper.  
‘They’re frozen fuckin’ solid, Doc, you really think-‘  
‘Shut up!’  
‘Movement!’  
The three men tensed, absolutely still. Roe’s every sense was strained, reaching out into the darkness. The sound came again, stronger now, and stronger still, yet barely more than a whisper. The wind carried it away. The white ground pitched and gave way a short distance ahead.  
‘Flash… flash… flash! Flash!’  
‘Thunder!’  
‘Flash! Flash!’  
They scrabbled forward in frantic haste, throwing back the Basha, covered in a good three inches of snow.  
‘We got you, we got you!’  
‘Flash, flash!’  
Roe pitched himself into the foxhole. ‘Guarnere you stay, Babe you keep goin’ with those Aid Kits alright? Come on buddy you’re ok now, you wounded?’  
‘Flash… flash…’  
The man’s voice was broken with cold. Man, thought Roe, grabbing a pair of slight shoulders: he was so small, he must be little more than a boy. ‘Come on now son, you’re gonna be-‘  
He turned the soldier round. Their helmet, peppered with holes, fell back to reveal a shock of gold.  
‘Jesus Christ!’ Guarnere’s voice was too loud. ‘It’s fuckin’ Baby!’

‘Flash… flash…’  
She was delirious, hypothermic. Her lips were blue.  
‘Hey Baby, you remember me? You remember Eugene Roe, Easy Company, huh? Come on now, look at me…’ Her eyes moved as he spoke, staring at nothing.  
‘Doc, there’s another one,’ Guarnere pulled Baby gently away from a second man. Clearly they’d been huddled together, saving warmth. Roe looked up. The perfectly-executed dressing on his head was unstained: he’d died of shock and cold before he could even bleed.  
‘Check his Aid Kit. Baby? Baby? You stay with me alright, kid?’  
‘…Rafferty… Rafferty, they’re here… Get up,’ she reached towards the dead man, her voice little more than a squeak. ‘I told you, didn’t I?’ She shook him weakly, didn’t seem to notice as he slumped lifeless into the mud.  
‘Bill c’mon, let’s get her outta here.’  
‘Rafferty get up, we’re going! Hey Sam! Sam!’ She struggled in their arms, or tried to struggle, still reaching towards the dead man. It was like lifting a child. ‘What are you doing? What are you doing? Get Sam!’  
‘Babe, get those Aid Kits, we gotta go!’  
‘Sam- get off me!’  
‘He’s dead, Baby!’  
‘She’s hallucinating Guarnere, just carry her damn legs alright? Babe, let’s go!’  
‘We have to go back! We have to go back!’  
What little voice she had was soon lost in the sounds of hard breaths and pounding feet.  
‘What the hell is she doing out here?’ Guarnere panted as they ran.  
Dying, like the rest of us, Roe thought.  
‘How about you ask her when she’s not fuckin’ freezing to death, huh, Bill? C’mon, pick it up.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Romance gets going in the next chapter


	3. Warming Up

‘Nix.’  
There was a grumble from somewhere under his feet. Dick crouched down.  
‘Hey, Nix.’  
‘What.’  
‘….Nix.’  
The snow in front of him parted to reveal Lew’s sleep-tousled head.   
‘Goddammit, Dick, What? What is it?’  
‘Doc Roe thinks he found the 501st.’  
‘Oh yeah? What were those lazy assholes doing anyway?’  
‘Dying, by the sound of it.’  
‘…Hmm.’ Nix paused, then continued rifling through his combat jacket. Dick hear the familiar metallic swish of liquid inside a hip-flask. ‘We know anything yet?’  
‘I sent Roe, Heffron and Guarnere to check it out.’  
Behind them, a distant shout echoed, sending a flurry of whispers up the line. Nixon sighed.  
‘Here comes trouble.’

‘Captain Winters!’  
Doc Roe threw himself down beside them, breathing heavily.   
‘Aid Kits?’  
We got a few, sir, but-‘  
‘Any survivors?’  
‘One, sir.’  
Dick heard Lew struggling with his boots.  
‘One? He doing ok?’  
‘…Well, that’s the thing, sir. You remember Baby? Way back after Carentan?’  
Lew’s head popped back up over the parapet.  
‘Baby? The medic?’  
Dick felt something lurch in his chest.   
‘God knows how she got out here, sir, but she’s here alright.’  
‘How is she?’ Dick blurted out. He dared not look towards Lew. Roe shuffled a little, cleared his throat.  
‘She ain’t wounded, but she’s hypothermic.’ He looked up, glancing from one officer to the other. ‘I don’t exactly know how to ask this, sirs, but she’s gonna need your help.’

 

Doc led them to Company CP. Babe and Guarnere had laid her out on one of the camp-beds and piled anything they could find on top of her, to keep her warm. All Dick could see was a pair of boots, rattling against the metal frame.  
‘We found her in a foxhole. She’d been trying to keep one of ‘em alive. Sounded like maybe she came out here with ‘em.’  
It had been chaos, travelling out to Bastogne. Dick didn’t imagine it would’ve been too hard for a would-be medic to pull her helmet over her soft-featured little face and hitch a ride on some unit’s transport. Besides, she was a great surgeon. And like she’d told him, she’d made a lot of friends out here.   
‘We gotta get her warm.’  
Doc Roe looked at them again, furtively, as if sizing them up. Dick snapped into action.  
‘Well, sure, we got blankets- Nix, you wanna get your stove going-‘  
‘Sir.’  
They were both looking at him now, Lew with a trace of amusement.  
‘…She’s too far gone for that. She needs body heat, sirs.’ Doc Roe cleared his throat. ‘I figured with you two being officers…’  
Lew chuckled. ‘You wanna flip a coin, Dick?’  
‘Lew, for God’s sake.’   
‘You’d better do it, then. After all, everybody knows you’re a Quaker. The men wouldn’t believe it if they saw it with their own eyes.’  
Dick’s heartbeat rushed in his ears. He took a step forward, then shook his head, retreating.   
‘I, uh-‘  
‘Dick, in all seriousness, she is almost certainly going to die. Take one for the team, why don’t ya.’  
Nix slapped him heartily on the back, shaking him out of his stupor.   
‘Right, well, uh- Nix, you better take the other camp-bed. For… decency’s sake.’  
Behind him, Lew and Doc Roe exchanged a glance.  
‘I’ll leave you to it, sirs. I’ll check on her tomorrow morning.’  
‘Very good, Doc.’

Dick steeled himself, pulling back the layers of blankets and sliding in swiftly, so as not to let any heat escape. Behind him, he heard Lew rustling around on the other camp-bed.  
‘Never thought I’d see the day, acting as your chaperone.’  
‘Shut up, Nix.’  
‘You kids leave room for Jesus, now.’  
It took him a few moments to find her, fully clothed as they both were, his hands clumsy and numb. She shivered uncontrollably, unresponsive as a rag doll. Dick tried to suppress a surge of guilt as he pulled her close, opening his combat jacket and sliding her arms around his waist. He was doing this for her own good. Lew chuckled softly.  
‘Dick Winters, won’t even get in bed with a girl to save her life.’  
‘We could get court-martialled for this, you know.’ 

Gradually she began to react to his warmth, dragging herself closer, shaky little huffs of breath evaporating against his chest. Her legs entwined with his, her arms pulling at him with what little strength she had left. One icy fingertip grazed briefly against a sliver of exposed skin at his waist. Dick gasped despite himself and winced, hoping Lew hadn’t heard. She nuzzled into his shoulder and held him like this, at her unconscious mercy, for several minutes. Then slowly her breathing began to even out, and the violent shivering calmed to an occasional twitch. Her grip loosened.   
‘Rafferty?’  
Her voice startled them. Dick heard Lew stir to his right.   
‘No. It’s alright. You’re safe.’  
She raised her head, gold hair brushing against his chin.  
‘…Dick?’  
Lew had stopped moving now. Dick could feel him straining to catch every word.   
‘Yes, it’s me.’  
Her breath warmed his throat.   
‘Rafferty’s dead.’  
‘…Yes.’  
Her breaths came in short gasps. She shook now, but not with the cold. Dick felt tears drip onto his neck, coursing ponderously down his chest.   
‘It’s alright.’  
He could have raised his hand from under the blankets. Instead he leaned forward and brushed his cheek against hers, brushed the hot tears from her face.  
‘It’s alright.’  
His breath moved through her hair. She raised her head and dried her other cheek on his.  
‘It’s alright.’  
His lips moved against hers. His words kissed her. 

In the warm darkness, Nix listened as their whispers turned to steady, sleeping breaths. He smiled.  
‘I guess now we know who she was lookin’ at.’


	4. Mascot

‘She can’t stay here.’  
‘I know.’  
Dick felt Lew’s eyes on him. He kept his own fixed steadfastly on the line.   
‘Can you imagine when Colonel Sink finds out? And Dike, you know that prick’s got some secret handshake bullshit going on up at Division. You think they’re gonna see a woman on the line and just let that go?’  
‘I know, Nix.’  
Snow fell steadily through the trees, settling on them, melting through layer after layer, trickling into their boots and down the backs of their necks. Dick closed his eyes and for a second let himself go back to the warm dark: to her lips pressed for one brief moment against his own.   
‘-dangerous, Dick, y’know? She almost died out in that foxhole already and- are you listening to me?’  
‘Nix. I know.’ He put her away, behind a locked door in his mind. He didn’t need Lew to tell him the real reason she had to go: that thoughts like these were dangerous in combat. ‘She has to go back.’  
‘Alright then.’  
They heaved themselves up and headed back to Company CP. Doc Roe was waiting.  
‘How is she?’ Nix asked. Roe looked at them strangely.  
‘I was gonna ask you the same thing, sir.’  
‘What do you mean, Doc?’  
Roe glanced from one to the other.  
‘Well, uh… she ain’t here, sirs.’  
‘What do you mean she-‘  
They burst into the CP, Roe at their heels, only to find themselves staring impotently at two empty camp-beds. Dick turned, his mouth suddenly dry.   
‘Where the hell is she?!’

‘…So I said to him, if I ever see you wasting syrettes on a T3 again, I’ll stick my boot so far up your a-’  
‘Hey Baby, can you take a look at my feet?’  
‘Sure, Toye, gimme a minute-’  
‘You tryna scare her off the line, Toye? She only just got here!’  
‘Hell no Malark, if I wanted to do that I’d show her Buck’s ass!’  
‘Hey, my ass is a medical marvel, I bet the good Doc’d love to see it…’  
‘Sure thing Buck, I heard you got three holes in, three holes out!’  
‘CURRAHEE! HI-HO SILVER!’  
‘Hey Baby, seriously Baby, you gotta help me out here…’  
‘I ain’t looking at your penis Guarnere, so quit asking. Here, take this.’  
‘What’s- chocolate? Aw, come on…’  
‘It won’t stop you pissing needles but it might shut you up for two seconds. Just don’t eat too much, alright?’  
‘You watchin’ my figure, Doc?’  
‘Nah- you ain’t gonna die of the clap, Guarnere, but you might die of the shits.’  
‘Hey Baby, you want some coffee?’  
‘Sure thing, Perconte.’  
‘Sugar?’  
‘Nah Perconte, Baby’s sweet enough, ain’t ya?’  
‘You got that right, Luz…’

The laughter died down as they approached, Dick flanked by Lew and Doc Roe.  
‘Captain Winters, Sir. Captain Nixon.’ Lip greeted them, followed by a mumbled chorus of ‘sir’s.   
‘Good morning, gentlemen.’ Dick turned to find her eyes on him. Her face was still a pallid grey, but her lips- he shouldn’t think about that. ‘I see you’ve met our guest. Miss Cullen, if we could borrow you for a moment?’  
She nodded and stood wordlessly, passing the canteen back as she left.  
‘Thanks for the coffee, Perconte.’  
‘…Miss Cullen?’  
‘Well Baby ain’t her real name, shithead.’  
‘She don’t look like a Cullen to me.’  
‘She looks like a Hoobler to me- future Mrs. Hoobler…’  
‘Shut up, Hoob.’

They walked a little way off in silence. Her breaths were short and painful-sounding.   
‘How ya feeling, Baby?’  
‘Not too bad, Eugene.’ Her voice was hoarse, but recognisable now. ‘I heard it was you who… well, thanks.’  
‘Doc, could you give us a minute?’  
‘…Sir.’  
Roe patted her on the shoulder as he left, jogging back towards the rest of Easy. Dick paused.   
‘Lucy-‘  
Lew glanced at him. It was the first time he’d used her name.   
‘You want me to go.’  
‘You can’t stay here. Colonel Sink would have a heart attack.’  
‘Sir, Easy Company has no surgeon. Doc Roe’s a real professional, but he’s worn as thin as the line. The rest of your medics have as much BCDT experience as you do. With respect.’ She had to pause for breath.  
‘Lucy. You’re sick.’  
‘Toye has Trench Foot. Lip has a chest infection that’s only gonna get worse. By all rights Guarnere should still be in hospital. Half of Easy Company are walking wounded. Dick…’ She touched his arm. ‘If you send me away, good men will die. That’s just a fact.’  
She looked up at him, then at Nix. Lew held her gaze for a long time, then sighed, reaching for his hip flask.  
‘Word is, nothing moves out of Bastogne. Can’t even evac the wounded outta there. We could send her a few miles down the road, but she’d hardly be in any less danger.’  
He took a swig.  
‘Tell Sink she’s a… a lucky charm. A mascot. Like that dog, remember? Draftee.’  
Lucy coughed down her sleeve. ‘A dog?’  
Lew raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Indispensable to the men’s morale. Call it an early Christmas present to the Battered Bastards of Bastogne.’  
Dick rocked on his heels. ‘You think it’ll work?’  
‘Where’s he gonna send her, Dick? She’s here now.’  
‘And Dike?’  
‘Dike’s got his head so far up his own ass, we could replace half the men in Easy Company with women and he probably wouldn’t notice. Hell, we could replace the other half with dogs.’  
Dick looked at him.  
‘You’ve changed your tune from ten minutes ago.’  
Nix laughed. ‘Call me sentimental.’  
Snow and silence fell together.  
‘Well, uh…’ Lew gave them each a knowing glance. ‘I heard Perconte makes some great coffee. I guess I’ll go… check it out.’

They stood shoulder to shoulder, watching his silhouette fade into the fog.   
‘You saved my life.’ She turned to him, eyes lowered. Dick remembered that night in the farmhouse: the moment of silence that stretched too long.  
‘I was glad to.’  
Snow pattered through the trees.  
‘Thank you.’  
She looked up to find his eyes on her, his face set with that long, mournful look he wore when he thought nobody was watching. She reached back into the delirious memory of that night: a dappled maze of consciousness and unconsciousness. In his face she tried to read what had been real, and what imagined. His lips parted, and she remembered their touch.  
‘Dick, I…’  
‘TAKE COVER!’  
A mortar blast ripped through the branches above them. Snow gave way to a flaying rain of splinters, and the noise, the noise of routed earth and screeching timber. Blood screamed in their ears, every muscle clenched to paralysis until instinct kicked in like a sprung trap and their feet flew beneath them.  
‘Find a foxhole, take cover! Find a foxhole!’  
‘MEDIC!’  
Dick hurled himself into the nearest scrap of cover, reaching out to pull her into safety. ‘Lucy, here-‘  
Her slight little figure darted past him through the trees, kicking mud-stained snow high into the air as she ran.   
‘MEDIC!’  
‘Penkala!’  
He lost sight of her in the storm of ice and shrapnel. With all the strength he could muster he closed the door in his mind, locked her away in some dark, warm place, and drew his eyes back to the line.


	5. Hagenau

A convoy of military vehicles dragged its way into Hagenau, straggles of men on foot linking the trucks like broken vertebrae. Thin flakes of snow dropped exhausted from dirty grey clouds and perished in the mud. Belching engines, hacking lungs, the trudge of a thousand feet. There were no voices. There was nothing to be said.  
‘Hey, guys! Some Lieutenant told me to report to 2nd.’  
Something in that voice sent claws of irritation raking up every man’s spine. A host of eyes turned on Webster. He might as well have been looking at a brick wall.  
‘Your name’s Jackson, right?’  
Each was suddenly aware of the effort it took to speak, to pull themselves out of that hard-won silence after months of roaring earth and screaming trees and worst of all: the noises, the awful noises made by the ragged throats of men dying.  
‘…That’s right.’  
‘Who’s leading the platoon?’  
Lucy winced and leaned against the wooden slats at her back. She wore Hoobler’s old winter coat, pooled at her feet, the sleeves hiding her hands. Underneath, her jacket sleeves were stiff with blood. Malarkey turned briefly and caught her eye. She nodded. There was nothing to be said.  
‘-Must have liked that hospital because, uh, we left Holland four months ago.’  
It wasn’t Webster’s fault. Lucy knew that. They all knew it. But as she watched his clean, bare face contort into an over-easy smile, shining out against his fresh-pressed uniform, she felt the same coil of disdain that sharpened Liebgott’s voice. Hoobler’s coat weighed heavy on her back, black with mud and piss and other men’s blood. They were all stained with it, their bodies loathsome with dirt. The air was thick with the stench of exhaustion.  
‘-Yeah where is Guarnere? He still platoon sergeant?’  
The atmosphere prickled.  
‘No. He got hit.’  
The truck juddered to a halt, just in time. Ten pairs of fists relaxed. There was nothing to be said. 

***

‘Come on, he can’t be leading.’  
‘I’m not sure what they decided.’  
Liebgott’s arm lay stretched across the table. Lucy finished dressing the burn that lanced its way from wrist to elbow, just beginning to lose its raw-meat redness.  
‘…That’s you.’ She looked up, satisfied. ‘Don’t go getting it blown off now, Lieb. That’s some of my finest work.’  
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Baby.’  
The men had seen a wash, a good meal and a change of clothes since that morning, but despite outward appearances, Lucy knew the only thing holding them together was tension. They had reached the point of bravery were no man bothered denying that he was afraid. Her own clothes and hair were still caked with the dirt and gore of Bastogne. The communal showers had taunted her from across the ruined street: a sobering reminder of her own place in the great machine, like the puzzled stares of soldiers from other regiments.

Lieutenant Jones entered silently, sticking his shoulder to the wall. He had the good sense to keep to himself as far as the men were concerned- then he saw Lucy.  
‘You, medic, this is a private briefing. Get out.’  
She turned her face, surprised by the cold, clipped tones that all young officers confused with an air of authority. His expression changed.  
‘…Are you…?’  
It dawned on her. He hadn’t even realised that she was a woman. She would have been mildly amused, if Liebgott hadn’t curled his good hand slowly into a fist.  
‘Lieb.’  
She placed a hand gently on his wounded arm. He contented himself by giving the Lieutenant a long, gutting stare.  
‘Lieutenant Jones- at ease-’ the men tensed and relaxed as Captain Winters entered the room, followed by Sergeant Martin. Lucy readied herself to leave.  
‘I see you’ve met Miss Cullen.’  
She paused, allowing herself a glance. She was just in time to catch Dick’s gaze leaving her face.  
‘She was with us, in Bastogne.’  
Lucy felt the warmth of their eyes on her. She looked over at Babe, saw him smile and wink. Lieutenant Jones shuffled, still half at attention.  
‘Excuse me, sir.’ She gathered up her Aid Kit and made for the door.  
‘Miss Cullen-’  
‘Sir?’  
‘There are private showers in the Officers’ Quarters, they’ll be at your disposal from now until seventeen-hundred hours.’  
Lucy’s heart skipped, then dropped into her boots. She looked at Webster, clean and fresh and standing on his own, surrounded by an army of turned backs. She couldn’t use the Officers’ Quarters.  
‘Sir, I-’  
‘That’s an order, Miss Cullen.’  
She wavered.  
‘Yeah Baby, go on, you’re stinkin’ the whole place out’, Popeye grinned. Chuck threw an empty candy-wrapper at her from across the table.  
‘You ironed that uniform today? Hell, you’re an embarrassment to Easy Company!’  
Liebgott nudged her with his bandaged arm. ‘You go get yourself dolled up for when we get back, huh, Baby?’ He lowered his voice. ‘You’ve earned it.’  
A murmur of agreement passed through the room. She fought back a smile, passing Martin and Winters.  
‘Careful of that arm, Lieb. Try to keep it dry.’  
There was a ripple of laughter. At the doorway she turned and looked at them- at the faces she’d known through pain and snow and blood- and tried not to wonder if she’d look on them again.  
‘I’ll be waiting by the river for ya.’

***

 

Blue flowers traced their way across delicately cracked tiles. Bottles filled with soaps and scents lined the bath. She eyed them, these intricate little orbs of glass, and remembered a time when things were made for beauty, for good, even simply for their own sake. It seemed that all she had seen these past three long years had been made in order to destroy. Little golden bottle-tops glinted like bullet casings. 

Hot water had indeed been too much to hope for, but a sickly lukewarm trickle spurted erratically from the showerhead. She peeled decaying clothes from her skin, flesh sickly white and damp to the touch. She had not seen her own body since before the terrible winter of Bastogne. Revolting as they were, her clothes had been an armour of sorts, against the snow and the biting wind. Everyone hoped, in those wild moments spent pressing themselves into the mud of a foxhole, that the ration-packs and cigarette cartons and spare bandages padding their uniforms would provide some kind of miraculous shelter from the next blast. Running a hand under the water, she regarded herself in the one remaining sliver of mirror propped crookedly against the wall. Her limbs and face were mottled with dirt, bruises forming layer upon layer, blue and purple and yellow flushing across the luminous paleness of her waist and torso. She looked rotten from the inside. 

Clambering into the bath, she sat beneath the shower’s half-hearted spray and watched white porcelain reflect the story of the last few months in filth and blood. She ran her hands through her hair, dulled to mousy brown and thick with grease. The line of bottles tinkled softly as the spray hit them. She took one down and opened it: lavender. After endless days of cigarette smoke, sweat and rancid canned beans, it smelled like heaven. She poured a little, then a lot, then the whole bottle into her hands and over her head. At first the dirt just kept coming, no matter how thick a lather she spread over herself. It was as if the filth came from within, as if her body was purging months of pent-up fear and misery, sweating poison from every pore. Then, gradually, the dirt pulled away from the bruises. Her hair fell sleek against the curve of her skull, and shone like brass, if not quite yet like gold. 

***

 

This had been someone’s bedroom once. Their sheets still lay on the bed, embroidered with the same flowers that laced the bathroom walls. At the window stood a dressing table, scattered with empty jewellery-cases, a fine bone-handled hair brush left forgotten on the floor. Lucy’s face hung suspended in the mirror. The scent of lavender hung everywhere. She stood in the shadow of someone else’s life.  
‘…report to me as soon as they return, understood?’  
‘Yes, Sir.’  
Footsteps drummed up the stairs. Running a hand through her dripping hair, Lucy turned. She was dressed in fresh clothes, those from Bastogne still coiled in a rancid heap on the bathroom floor. She couldn’t bring herself to touch them. Her time was clearly up, and she didn’t relish the thought of some unknown officer stumbling across her up here. She hurried to the doorway, but too late.  
‘Miss Cullen.’ Dick wavered on the top step, then pulled himself forward. The corridor stretched between them.  
‘I was just, uh…’ she waved a hand towards the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe. Faint sounds of men talking and laughing drifted up the stairwell, but on this storey they were alone. Dick watched her silently. Drops of water slipped down her neck, her collarbone, dampening her shirt.  
‘That night, in Bastogne…’ she heard herself begin, forcing herself to look into his eyes. They never wavered. ‘…I got to thinking, maybe it was just a dream.’  
Dick sighed. ‘Maybe that would be better.’  
Her chest ached. From across the corridor she could see Dick’s every breath, stirring motes of dust in the pale light.  
‘Alright, then.’ She bit her lip, to keep her jaw from shaking. 

The sudden echo of footsteps was too harsh. It knocked tears from her eyes, hastily covered by her sleeve, trying desperately to compose herself before whichever officer it was disturbed their solitude. Looking up, she realised they were still alone. They were Dick’s footsteps, advancing on her, grey eyes set with a look she’d never seen before.  
‘I...’  
What she was planning to say, she had no idea. She looked up, expecting him to stop, but there was no stopping: he took her in his arms and the momentum of his body pushed them back against the doorframe. He kissed her hard, selfishly, one hand pinning her by the shoulder while the other slipped to the small of her back, pulling her into him even as he thrust her backwards. For a moment the shock rendered her helpless, torn in two under his hands. She felt foolish at her own surprise. Dick’s quiet, unassuming nature led most people into a false sense of the man, his skill and confidence in battle kept hidden until they were needed. In those long, cold nights alone in the frozen earth, she had imagined him to be slow, gentle, somewhat inexperienced. She had pictured nervous kisses, hesitantly guiding each other through their own confusion. Now she fumbled to keep up, half-stunned. His expert grip pulled one thigh upwards, knocking her legs apart with a tap of his boot. They gasped into each other’s mouths as he pressed himself against her, grinding their hips into a steady rhythm. She cried out softly into his shoulder, his lips burning against her neck, across her cheek. His hand left her waist, fingers cupping the back of her neck, thumb pressed gently against her throat. She reached for his hip and pulled him in again, following him, learning from him. He slid his tongue against her open lips and she responded in kind. Each kiss was deeper now, each movement more in time. She felt him reach down, under her shirt, calloused fingers sliding across her ribs. 

‘…So I said to him, “listen, buddy”- ah shit, I forgot my Aid Kit, hang on…’  
A voice at the foot of the stairs, so loud, so close. The hand on her thigh tightened and she went limp in his arms. For a moment they leaned, paralysed, against the doorframe. The voice faded, but all was changed.  
‘We can’t… we can’t…’ she breathed, hands trembling against his body. She could feel his heartbeat. Dick’s forehead rested against hers, his eyes closed. ‘We can’t… not here…’  
‘I know.’ He took a step back, let go of her leg. She righted herself clumsily. One hand still rested against the flesh of her waist.  
‘I should go.’ Her voice shook, their breaths still loud and ragged. Dick looked at her, the hard, animal glint in his eyes giving way to their usual mournful coolness. What was it Nix said? No flaws, no vices, no sense of humour. Well, it wasn’t entirely true. His gaze flickered across her face.  
‘…I’m sorry.’  
‘Don’t be,’ her hands fell empty to her sides. ‘…Don’t be.’  
She took his arm and pulled herself away from the doorframe. For a moment they stood, bodies pressed together, her head resting against his shoulder. She didn’t have the strength to look at him. With a final shaken breath, she forced herself into the hallway. Her feet hammered on the wooden stairs, carried her through the throng of men on the floor below and out into the blasted streets of Hagenau. She walked until her legs ached; until the moon’s reflection shone white on the ice and the cold laced crystals of frost in her damp hair. Still she burned.


	6. Austria

The smell of sun on freshly-mown hay; of warm summer wind blowing through the pine trees. The sound of women’s voices. Golden dappled afternoons that sank into soft rose-coloured evenings. Austria laid herself out in front of them, heralding a future as clean and pure as her snow-capped mountains.   
‘Whaddya crouchin’ down for, Perco? Think the deer’s gonna shoot back?’  
‘Leave me alone.’  
Bull, Lieb, Malark, Shifty and Perconte ambled half-stealthily through the sun-spattered wood. Lucy held an old farmer’s rifle, liberated from the nearby village.  
‘He’s afraid the deer’s gonna come up behind him, stick another hole in his ass.’  
They laughed, not really caring as their heavy footsteps frighted every animal within a hundred yards of them.   
‘Hey Baby, you musta seen the ass of every man in Easy Company by now!’  
‘I ain’t seen yours, Lieb.’  
‘Maybe today’s your lucky day if that deer ever shows up.’  
‘How ‘bout y’all just shut up, and left Shifty kill us some dinner.’  
They walked in silence for a few yards. Shifty tensed, pulled his rifle up… the rest of them didn’t even see the deer until it broke cover and bounded away, unharmed.  
‘Aw goddammit Shifty, you let him get away! Army oughta be glad to get rid of you…’ Lieb kicked dejectedly at a patch of ferns.  
‘Speaking of, you fellas think you can find your way back without me?’ Lucy pulled away, shouldering her weapon. Malarkey laughed.  
‘You got a pressing engagement, Baby?’  
‘I, uh… told Doc Roe I’d help him with an inventory. Guy’s got so many syrettes even he can’t complain about shortages no more.’  
Bull looked at her, one eyebrow cocked.  
‘Alright kid, you be careful out there.’  
‘Yeah, don’t get shot in the ass!’

Across the hillside, Nix and Harry sat in a pool of sunlight on the stairway, looking out over a sapphire lake. Dick leaned over the rusty balcony beside them.  
‘…Y’know, the reality is you’re gonna sit here in Austria for six months waiting to go, and I’m gonna be back in Wilkes-Barre, makin’ babies.’  
Dick gave his usual quiet huff of amusement, glancing towards Lew. ‘You didn’t tell him?’  
‘Nah, I couldn’t get him to shut up.’  
‘What? Tell me what?’  
‘Old guts ‘n’ glory here applied for a transfer.’  
‘…What?’ The smile faded from Harry’s face.   
‘13th Airborne are headed out for the Pacific right away. If I’m going, I wanna get it over with.’  
Harry turned to Lew, incredulous. ‘Are you in on this, too?’  
‘I can’t let him go by himself, he doesn’t know where it is.’  
They sat for a moment, wordless. Birdsong filled the air for the first time in three years.  
‘You’re leaving the men?’  
A shadow passed over Dick’s face. ‘They don’t need me anymore.’  
Harry looked down at his hands, thinking of the silk reserve ‘chute still tucked in the bottom of his pack. He’d carried it since Normandy.  
‘…You sure about that, Dick?’ He looked up, his voice harder now. ‘You sure there ain’t someone in Easy Company who needs you? After all this time?’  
Major Dick Winters turned from the sun-stroked mountains and looked at his watch.  
‘I’ve got an appointment.’  
‘An appointment? With who?’  
‘…Colonel Sink.’  
Harry turned to Lew, bemused. He simply shrugged, tipping his head back into the sunlight.  
‘Search me.’  
Dick took the stairs two at a time. 

***

Easy Company sat sprawled around the projector in what had once been the hotel lobby, watching Cover Girl for the hundredth time.   
‘Hey… hey Malarkey! Lieb!’  
‘Quit shovin’!’  
‘Shut up!’  
Nix looked behind him at the commotion. Doc Roe bumbled his way to the front row where Bull, Malarkey and Liebgott sat with their feet propped up on the best seats. Cigar-smoke wreathed its way through streams of light overhead.   
‘Hey, any of you guys seen Baby?’  
Malarkey turned, one eye still on the screen. ‘We thought she was with you, Doc.’  
Bull sent another cloud of smoke billowing upwards. ‘Said somethin’ about an inventory.’  
‘What? No, I ain’t seen her since yesterday. We never talked about no inventory.’

‘Listen up!’ The lights flickered on. Lieutenant Speirs stood at the back of the room. ‘Anybody seen Major Winters?’   
A ripple of silent shrugs made its way around the room. Speirs tried again. ‘Major Winters, anybody know where he is? Colonel Sink wants to see him.’  
Nix had indulged in a fair share of his spoils from Goebbels’ wine cellar that afternoon, but something itched in the back of his brain. An appointment with Sink…  
‘Alright… Liebgott, go check his quarters-’  
‘No, wait!’  
Nix grabbed Lieb by the shoulder. Cover Girl continued rolling behind him, unnoticed.   
‘Uh… the Major’s probably down by the lake, Lieutenant.’  
Bull, Malarkey and Liebgott looked from Doc Roe to Nix. Malarkey’s face was the first to change. He stood hurriedly. ‘Yeah he, uh, he likes to go swimming down there in the evenings. Big fan of an evening swim, Major Winters.’  
Bull nodded. ‘I saw him down there the other night.’  
‘I’ll go get him, Lieutenant. You leave it with me.’ Nix looked back at his fellow conspirators, a smile ghosting across his face. ‘You have a good night, fellas.’  
Liebgott chuckled. ‘Not as good as some.’  
Spiers turned to leave, apparently satisfied, and Doc Roe glanced cluelessly from Lieb to Bull to Malarkey.   
‘What’s goin’ on?’  
The three men shuffled in their seats, smirking.  
‘Pull up a pew, Doc.’  
‘Nah, I gotta go find Baby…’  
‘You ain’t gonna find her tonight, Gene. Just sit down and enjoy the goddamn movie.’

***

Dick stepped into his private quarters, closing the door behind him. A soft breeze, still warm with the memory of that day’s sun, stirred a pair of net curtains drawn across the balcony. A figure leaned against the open French doors, silhouetted in the violet dusk that still glowed faintly over distant mountain-tops. She turned, gleaming golden and white, like sunlight on snow. Dick smiled. The key turned under his hand. 

They moved towards one another, the soft echo of their boots the only sound save for a faint hushing of water down the mountainside. Lucy remembered the hard shock of his touch and trembled, but this time as he drew her closer it felt different. He was gauging her experience, amending himself to her reactions. She flushed and dipped her head. He was there to catch her, guiding her. His tongue gently parted her lips, each kiss softly ebbing and flowing into the next. He waited for her to pull him in, rising onto her toes, one arm looping around his waist. Their breaths came faster. They breathed each other, lips burning and bruised, mere closeness no longer enough. Stepping back, he popped the first few buttons on her shirt then pulled it over her head, unclasping her bra with a single, practiced motion as she remained fumbling with the thick material of his dress-shirt. A whispered laugh passed between them. He looked down at her, still picking hurriedly at buttonholes, slipping off her boots as she worked. Her breasts were striped with moonlight and shadow. Stroking upwards along her waist, he held her in his hands for the first time. Her breathing stuttered, fingers hanging useless in the row of still-fastened buttons. For a moment her head dropped, stunned, onto his shoulder. Dick guided her towards him again with a kiss, leading her hands to his belt-buckle as he made swift work of the troublesome shirt. Their trousers proved less of an obstacle, although Dick was not exactly accustomed to removing military fatigues from anyone but himself. And there, suddenly before him, stood the body he’d allowed himself to imagine in the lonely cold of Bastogne and the long, sleepless nights after Hagenau. From a picture conjured out of stolen glances and clothed memories there emerged this true form, this vision in the half-light. Dick silently cursed the dim crescent moon outside. 

Instinctively, Lucy slid her arms upwards, around the back of his neck. He lifted her onto the bed, trousers still hanging loosely at his hips. Kneeling hurriedly to unlace his boots, he looked up- and caught his breath. She had fallen back against the pillows, spread in front of him like an undiscovered country. Removing the rest of his clothes, he climbed onto the bed and smoothed one hand along her thigh. She trembled beneath him. On her opposite knee he planted a kiss, watching as her limbs yielded further to his touch. Slowly he kissed upwards, her flesh soft and cool, each touch of his lips rewarded with another whimper of pleasure. He fought now to keep himself in order, to resist the urge that spiked with each gasp. If Dick Winters had one thing in spades, it was self-discipline. Guiding one leg upwards to rest across his back, he glanced upwards for a moment, then parted her lips with a long, slow glide of his tongue.  
‘Oh-’  
Her cry cut through the silence, back arched, one arm thrown across the side of the bed. He waited for her body to subside before returning again, parting her with his fingers, tasting her. Her skin was cool as starlight, but inside, she burned. At first she stuttered helplessly against him but, little by little, her hips began to roll in time. Fingers brushed the side of his head, knotting in his hair, pushing him into her.   
‘Oh, oh-’  
He smiled, glancing up from his work.  
‘Shhh.’  
‘I can’t-’ a moan followed, muffled by bitten lips. She leaned forward, pulling at his shoulder. ‘I need… I need…’  
‘What?’  
‘I don’t… I can’t… You.’

The smile faded from his face as he pulled her down towards him, rising above her, kissing her swollen mouth. Her scent still clung to him, her taste in every kiss, and there she was beneath him, open, ready. He pulled her hips upward and stared into her eyes: a wordless request.  
‘Yes. Yes.’  
She arched into him as he pushed forwards, their gasps stifled by each other’s mouths. Dick struggled to regain a little composure, keeping his movements steady and slow, letting her respond to him. Gradually her thighs loosened around his waist. Her hips began to rock as before. Propped up on one elbow, her body was pressed stiffly against his. He felt her hand move to his lower back, pulling him in yet unable to find the right purchase. She gave a little huff of frustration.  
‘Let me.’  
He pushed her gently down and slid his full length into her, holding her hips in place, rolling her upwards. She pushed back against the mattress, looking up at him, following his lead. He steeled himself against the urge to abandon all control, to bear down on her and force the muffled little breaths of pleasure from her lungs with each thrust. Not quite trusting himself, he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her on top of him, sitting up against the headboard. Her eyes flickered.  
‘I don’t know…’  
‘…Like this.’  
He splayed one hand across her thigh, guiding the rhythm, catching her mouth again in a long, lazy kiss.   
‘Oh…’  
This time it was his turn to be caught unawares. She unfolded above him, one hand pressed against the wall, the other gripping the headboard. She pushed down and rolled her body close, legs blossoming outwards, each breath deeper than the last.   
‘Dick, I…’ He felt her tightening around him and responded, rocking her hips, sliding his thumb into her and circling round. She gasped into his open mouth, their foreheads pressed together. ‘Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop-’  
He let himself go, pulling her savagely forward, grinding his lips against hers as his fingers dug deeper, deeper… She shuddered and called out wordlessly and he pulled her roughly once, twice, and then it swelled and broke over them, a paralysing wave of pleasure. 

A breeze ghosted through the curtains, sending a shiver along bare skin. They sat locked together, dazed and breathless. Dick rested his head in the hollow of her shoulder. His arms encircled her waist. After a few dizzy moments, she stirred.   
‘…Ow.’  
Slipping backwards, she drew her knee up between them, purple and grazed from where it had rubbed against the headboard. They laughed softly.  
‘Your first war wound?’ He dipped his head, kissing her tender flesh. She let herself drop against the mattress with a little hum of satisfaction.   
‘I’ll live.’  
He pulled himself forward and lay stretched out beside her, one palm gently drifting along her every curve. She squirmed and giggled, the sensation too much after all they had just shared. She rolled onto her stomach and he laid a kiss on her shoulder, breathing the scent of her golden hair.   
‘…What do you think about New Jersey?’  
She looked up at him through sleep-clouded eyes.  
‘New Jersey? Never been.’  
He laid his head next to her, their noses touching. She reached for his hand and laced his fingers with her own.  
‘We’ll go. I’ll take you there.’  
‘Alright.’


	7. Home

The resounding crack of a baseball struck high into the open blue sky echoed for miles across the Austrian countryside. The scent of bruised grass and warm, churned earth hung in the breeze, carrying the shouts and laughter of Easy Company far and wide. Lewis Nixon and Dick Winters strode across the open field.  
‘Easy Company, school circle!’  
The men gathered, listening at first with distracted glances and chuckles, smiles fading as the reality of Major Winters’ words became clear in their minds.  
‘This morning, President Truman received the unconditional surrender from the Japanese.’ Dick looked at each man, meeting their eyes. ‘War’s over.’  
A moment of silence fell over that azure day, every mind cast back to the dark chaos of Normandy, the biting misery of Bastogne, the fantastic delirium of Berchtesgaden. The 101st Airborne were going home. Buck Compton broke the silence.  
‘Now come on, we’ve still got a game to finish Easy, let’s go!’  
There was nothing to do except what they had always done: what had helped them survive all those long and terrible days. They got on with the business of being alive.   
‘Hey, Perconte! Perconte, over here!’  
‘C’mon, Popeye, let’s move it!’  
They spread out across the field, Lew and Dick leaning against the jeep beside Speirs. Harry ambled over to join them.   
‘So that’s it, huh?’  
Lew squinted in the sunlight, polishing his sunglasses on his sleeve.  
‘Looks like it.’

A figure materialised through the heat-haze, making its way toward the makeshift baseball field. White limbs flashed in the sunlight, blue dress billowing with every gust of wind. A commotion rippled through the men.  
‘Hey, who’s the broad?’  
‘Doc, who is that? You see?’  
As she picked up into a lazy jog they began to recognise her gait, seen so often dodging through trees and leaping over foxholes. A glint of gold hair caught the light.   
‘Hey, Baby!’  
They thronged around her, laughing.  
‘Where the hell’d you get that dress, Baby? You been carrying that thing around since before Carentan?’  
‘She raided Eva Braun’s dressing room up in Berchtesgaden, ain’t that right, Baby?’  
She took it all in her stride. ‘Nah, I reckon Harry beat me to it: he got Kitty Hitler’s silverware and a whole new wardrobe.’  
‘Gotta be better than wearing a reserve ‘chute.’  
‘Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, that’s real silk you’re talking about…’  
They paused in front of Lew, Harry, Speirs and Dick, the men gradually dispersing to return to their game. Lucy’s dress clung tight at the waist. Her hair, left to grow since they’d departed from Germany, hung past her jawline and framed her face in a haze of gold. It was still a shock somehow, although he had seen every part of her, to see her dressed like this. Her body, hidden all this time, set her apart now from the men she had suffered with. And something in her soul, he feared- the part of her they had all, by some miracle, accepted as one of their own- would not withstand the change much longer. It would become a part of her more secret than any flesh, like the taste of her on his tongue: a promise known only to one another. In that moment, Dick saw a glimpse of the girl she must have been before all this: no more than a child, really. Like the rest of them. Like him.  
‘So you really are a girl,’ Nix smiled at her past his cigarette. ‘I was startin’ to worry.’  
‘Screw you, Nix…’ she laughed, kicking him. Her eyes wavered upwards. Dick smiled at her.  
‘Hello.’  
‘Hello.’

They gravitated away from the others, strolling aimlessly back toward the encampment. Nix passed Harry a cigarette.   
‘Who’d have thought it, huh?’ Harry chuckled softly. ‘No flaws, no vices, no sense of humour, you told me…’  
Nix shook his head, grinning. In the distance, two figures turned to one another. Reaching up on tiptoe, Lucy placed her hands on Dick’s chest. He leaned into her kiss, running one hand through her sunlit hair. Behind them, the baseball field erupted into a raucous chorus of cheers. They laughed, foreheads pressed together, easy and happy and free. Harry glanced over at Nix.  
‘New Jersey, huh?’  
‘New Jersey.’  
‘…Looks like you’ll have company.’  
Lucy reached down and took Dick’s hand, lacing their fingers together, leading him home.

**Author's Note:**

> I ship Winnix as hard as probably every B.O.B fan, but I thought I'd have a little fun with an original character instead. Some of the details re: the timeline may be a little off, but I figured adding a female character was highly unrealistic anyway!


End file.
